


Watershed

by Greyias



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, In which I have the hardest time figuring out what to call the Sith-With-Too-Many-Names, Married Couple, Post-Star Wars: The Old Republic - Onslaught, Present Tense, Seriously he needs to pick one, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Onslaught Spoilers, Supportive Partners, like he's not even IN this story and he still finds a way to be a jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22010329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: She has to wonder if maybe this was what that fabled ever after feels like from the stories. Where everyone flies off into the stars together, happy to the end of their days. Perhaps the wave will never find its shore, forever tumbling in this sea of bliss.
Relationships: Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Theron Shan
Kudos: 26





	Watershed

**Author's Note:**

> I really, _really_ wanted to know Theron's reaction to Onslaught's epilogue--but alas, for the moment, that is not to be. I can always hope we'll get more in the next story update; until then, I guess we have fanfic?

She can’t stop smiling. Her cheeks should ache from it, but her heart seems to be so overflowing with joy that it’s leaking out everywhere. 

Perhaps it’s unbecoming for a member of the Jedi High Council, those who are to be so revered and wise that they inspire everyone around them to greatness. She can’t help it though. For the first time in a long, long time, everything feels like it has fallen into place. Even though there is war, it feels like things are genuinely starting to right themselves in the galactic sense. With Kira and Scourge’s return, her crew is whole again. The Republic is starting to resemble the place she’d grown up in, the Jedi Order is reforming and _stars_. They want _her_ to help shape it. 

That still feels odd and wonderful and absolutely terrifying and she’d said yes, but only afterwards realized that she maybe should have said no. Grey had built a far different life after Zakuul had upended the galaxy — one where she tried to uphold the Jedi ideals that had shaped her life but… not all of them. It’s not exactly a secret that she had fallen in love and gotten _married_ — to the son of the former Grand Master of the Order no less. Although when she thinks of Master Satele’s struggles with with family and detachment, and the effect it has had on the lives around her, perhaps there are some pieces of Jedi dogma that need to be addressed. Reshaped.

It should feel wrong to criticize her old mentor’s decisions, but as the physical embodiment of said decisions wraps his arms around her, all thoughts of self-recrimination and any second thoughts are immediately chased away as that all-encompassing euphoria washes over her again. Theron’s chin settles on her shoulder, his cheek pressing against hers as he pulls her close in the crush of the crowd at the bar. His close proximity sends a thrill through her as his voice rumbles low where only she can hear.

“What do you say we take this celebration somewhere more… _private_?”

His meaning carrying on the low, sultry tone and he way his fingers curl around her hip.

And as much as she loves being back with the Republic, celebrating their victories and renewed fellowship — it is too tempting of an offer to refuse. She could spend the entire trip back to Odessen getting lost in his arms, and to Lana’s eternal dismay probably will, but right now she just wants to ride his wave of elation until the very end. To whatever shore it crashes upon.

As she lies in his arms afterwards — sweaty, sated, exhausted, and still smiling like her face has gotten stuck this way — she has to wonder if maybe this was what that fabled ever after feels like from the stories. Where everyone flies off into the stars together, happy to the end of their days. Perhaps the wave will never find its shore, forever tumbling in this sea of bliss.

She is still caught up in it, even as she meets with Kira and Scourge to discuss the urgent matter they had spoken of on Carrick Station. Discussing their years long quest to find Valkorion—Tenebrae’s—original body to destroy it.

“When you purged the last of Valkorion from your mind,” Scourge says, “that is when his final weapon was unleashed. A Sith ritual, carved into the very flesh of his original body, unleashed an ancient plague from every molecule of his decaying corpse.”

“We were both knocked out cold,” Kira adds. “Comatose for… more than a year. Satele Shan was the one who finally pulled us out of that nightmare… and started a new one.”

The seemingly endless tumbling wave finally crashes ashore, the almost omnipresent effusion of joy scattering around her like droplets suspended in mid-air. Each of them chanting in unison, an endless stream of “no, no, no” as if that would somehow hold reality at bay. As if denial itself can stitch back together a false sense of peace for just a few moments more. Valkorion having built in one last ditch effort at enacting vengeance upon the galaxy is not the big surprise it should be. It is not the thing shattering her newfound happiness.

It is Master Satele. She had saved the last of Grey’s crew, bringing their odd little family back together at long last. But in rescuing Kira and Scourge from the from the disease rotting off the flesh of Tenebrae’s corpse, Satele has gotten herself snared in that monster’s web. The thought of her old friend, her old mentor, Theron’s _mother_ , slowly fading to illness and her mind being overtaken by not just darkness but some remnant of Valkorion is… it’s _smothering_. For a moment, it just roots her to the spot, that feeling of being trapped in her own mind, darkness pressing in from every side as a malevolent entity tries to pick apart every piece of her soul and restitch it into something grotesque and unnatural.

Her fingers unconsciously stray to the hilts of her lightsabers. They smooth across the beautiful patterned swirls, etched into the metal over a lifetime ago. The action is as grounding now as it had been the first time that Satele had laid them in her hands. Back when the first time Grey had emerged from the darkness, and her mentor’s kindness had been a light to guide the way. And now it seemed… it was time to repay that kindness in turn.

She tries to take in a deep, calming breath, but the sound of air rushing in her nose just makes a whistling noise. It doesn’t sound at all like Theron’s name, but that’s all she can hear. The need to find him, _talk_ to him is all that fills her. He needs to know what’s happening. This is his _mother_ , he needs to be involved in this process somehow. This isn’t just her decision, this is _their_ family and—

Scourge is still talking.

Talking about failsafes. Last ditch efforts to keep Valkorion’s last plague on the galaxy from spreading. The part of her that is logical, the part of her that is a Jedi, knows that he’s correct. The need to contain the contagion must outweigh the part of her that is desperate to save Satele. To try and save Theron from knowing the pain of what it’s like to lose a parent. To spare him the emptiness that follows Grey around every day, unable to ask for her own mother’s opinion or advice or just one last smile. The bond between Theron and Satele is different—strained at best—she knows that. But it’s still there. And it’s worth fighting for all the same.

There’s a small part of her that almost doesn’t want to tell him. That wants to keep this quiet and between her and Kira and Scourge. To handle this herself and just let him know when the matter is settled for good or for ill. It’s a selfish and immature part of her, built out of fear and insecurity. Fear over Theron’s reaction, insecurity of being able to _control_ him. She knows firsthand the lengths he’s willing to go to save those he loves, how he can put himself in danger because he doesn’t think. Just reacts. The thought of him rushing headlong onto an infected ship and getting himself pulled under the same disease as Satele makes her breath hitch, squeezes around her chest like a vice. As much as she wants to spare him the pain of losing his mother, she knows she cannot lose him again. Especially not to _Valkorion’s_ last vengeance.

It is a selfish, quicksilver desire trying to masquerade as protection. To try and control him with misinformation, even if it is to keep him safe, are not the actions of a trusting partner. There’s only the briefest, fleeting thought of the irony of her keeping him in the dark as she embarks on a dangerous mission in order to keep him safe. She squashes it just as quickly, because that is not love either. It is pettiness. To try and draw parallels between this situation and his decision to go undercover is trying to justify a wrongful action. And it is also not unlike comparing muja to a sphere-fruit as the situations are not the same at all.

She lets that desire go, for it is not the actions of a wife, a partner in all things. Nor of a Jedi, but that is only secondary. Maybe even tertiary. She and Theron made their vows to each other, and she will not walk back on them because of her own insecurities and fears. If she is to trust him, and she _does_ , she really, _really_ does, then she will trust him with the truth. Will trust that he can be honest with her in return. And that they will face this together.

He finds her waiting on the couch in their quarters, her feet pulled up in an awkward attempt at failed meditation to calm her nerves. Calm her racing mind and twisting gut. His clever eyes take in the scene, the casual grin slipping from his face as soon as his eyes meet hers. She wonders again if she’s doing the right thing. They’ve both been so happy — he deserves to keep that, doesn’t he? Let one of them float along in this bliss. However it’s just another excuse to try and keep him from pain. To delay being the one to deliver it. She doesn’t want to hurt him. Even in her darkest moments she’s never wanted to hurt _him_.

Besides, they’ve already been down this road before. Hiding the truth in an attempt to protect each other makes things worse in the long run. It just brings more pain on both parties.

“You okay?” he asks, expression scrunching up in concern.

“Theron, come sit down.”

His brows furrow further, lips pressing together as he crosses the room. His once-easy gait transforming on his approach, spine straightening, shoulders bunching up as if he’s coiling up in defense. Even as he takes his seat next to her, it’s quick, perfunctory, rather than an inelegant flop across her lap when he’s free of cares. 

“What’s wrong?” The question is quiet, filled with such soft concern that she feels something twinge in her chest.

“Please just listen to me first,” she says, “before you do anything.”

“Of course.” 

He just looks so earnest and worried as he folds his hands over hers in a gesture so sweet and caring that it nearly undoes her. No one else sees this side of him. Most think he’s only made of up of snark, work, and seriousness. He’s sometimes let others see a slightly more carefree side during parties or at the cantina unwinding — but they never see this soft, sweet man who looks at her as if she’s the only person in the galaxy. They might see him sometimes laugh or smile, but they’ve never seen how beautiful it is without his walls obscuring them. She wonders when the next time _she’ll_ see it again, already hating herself for upsetting his happiness. 

But if it were her mother, she’d want to know. She wouldn’t want it hidden from her. And despite the differences between him and Satele, she’s pretty sure he would too. 

“Kira and Scourge told me where they had gone,” she starts slowly, working her way up to it, “they were tracking down Tenebrae—Valkorion’s original body. To destroy it. At the same moment I had banished him from my mind and into the void.” 

He watches her as she speaks, listening dutifully as promised with sharp eyes, jaw set, and a familiar look settling into place. Back when Valkorion had still been taking up residence in her head, Theron had not remained quiet about his feelings on the matter. Sometimes she had wondered if he had somehow hated Valkorion _more_ than her, with some of the expressions she had caught settling in on his face when the ghost would make his appearance. The look on his face now is similar to the ones back then, and she recognizes it now as a sign that he’s getting protective, preparing to throw himself between danger and the one he loves. 

It is both a frustrating and heartwarming sight, but this is not about _her_. So she shakes her head, attempting to summon that Jedi calm, and try to keep her voice steady as she tells the next part.

“He had done something to his old body, Theron. Some sort of ancient Sith ritual that unleashed a plague that sent Kira and Scourge into a coma for over a year,” she says. “Satele and some people following her found them—pulled them out of it.”

Theron starts at the name, clearly not expecting this part of the tale. “Is that where she’d gotten off to?”

“Theron.” Her voice fails, her, cracking. It has the unintended effect of him going silent and deathly still. It almost seems like slow motion, watching as he has difficulty swallowing suddenly, eyes meeting hers with a sudden naked fear. “She was _infected_.”

She can see the realization dawn on his face as he parses through her words. Brows knitting together as an undecipherable series of conflicting emotions race across his face. She wishes she could identify any of them, but his mother has always been the subject he’s been the most tight lipped about. 

“Is she…?”

His tone is terse, almost harsh. Someone who didn’t know him better might think the harshness to be a mirror of his feelings, rather than the only way he can get out the words when the undercurrents race too strong.

“No, she’s not,” Grey says, “not yet.”

Even as she says it, she realizes he didn’t quite finish the question and doesn’t know if he’s asking if Satele is still alive, or if she’s been overtaken by the disease. She takes in a breath, letting it fill her lungs and using the moment to gather the calm that she needs to provide. This is Theron’s mother, not hers. Regardless of how close they are, he is the one allowed to be overcome with emotion right now and she needs to be his touchstone.

“What’s it doing to her?” His tone hasn’t softened yet.

“They’re in stasis right now,” she says carefully, “they’re sleeping, but it’s not… pleasant. Nightmarish. And it’s… connecting the minds of the infected together. Merging them somehow.”

The stony expression on his face slips only for a moment as he recoils in horror, for a moment revealing the depths of emotion roiling underneath the surface. She understands it, as the description brought to mind so many horrors, including all of the poor souls on Ziost that tore each other apart under Vitiate’s influence.

“Kira and Scourge say stasis isn’t stopping the infection, just slowing the progression,” she clarifies, choosing her words carefully. “They’re all quarantined on a transport, we’ve sent a signal to alter its course so we can intercept it. It will take time for it to come back in range. Enough time to make plans.”

“Plans?” Theron’s voice is still rough. Terse. And there’s more emotion contained in that one questioning word than some could fill in a book. 

She blinks a few times, reminding herself to stay centered. To not get pulled under the tide of his emotions, and instead squeezes his hand. Trying to summon a confident, comforting smile she doesn’t really feel.

“Right now our plan is for the three of us to board the ship and connect our minds together with the Force and try and reach Satele. To _save_ her. All of them. We’re immune to this contagion in the way that others aren’t.”

His eyes are sharp again, expression shuttered as he processes things. “How can you be sure?”

The question catches her off guard. “Be sure of what?”

“Be sure _you_ won’t get infected?” 

His voice is so rough and fierce it takes her aback. For just a moment, they’re both back in Alliance Staging Area, right before their mission to Umbara. And he’s vowing to do anything to protect her. It doesn’t matter what the threat against her is, he will always want to put himself between her and it. She blinks. This is not the time for this. So she pushes the past away, choosing to focus on the present.

“We’ve all been vessels for his power in the past,” she says carefully, and he presses his lips together so tightly she wonders if it hurts. “It… inoculates us. Almost like a vaccine. I’ve been his vessel for so long, back then… and again. I’m probably the most protected from this disease.”

Theron’s quiet, his expression still set in a deep frown, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him. She wants to something to comfort him. She hates seeing him like this and just wants to make it better. But she can’t, not at the present moment. So she waits. Because he’s always so patient with her when she’s the one struggling. She needs to give him time to process, let him work through everything himself. He’ll come to her when he’s ready.

It takes less time than she expects, but still feels like an eternity when he finally breaks his pensive pose. Looking back at her with a movement so quick and precise, like a razor’s edge.

“I don’t like it.” His voice is still taut. He’s wound so tight, ready to spring.

“I know,” she says. She doesn’t either, but it’s the hand they’ve been dealt. “This is their best chance, Theron— _I’m_ their best chance.”

“I can’t—” His voice cracks then and he stops, jaw snapping shut with a loud click as he looks away. He swallows, still facing the other way as he grinds out, “I don’t want anything to happen to Satele.”

He takes a few more breaths, seeming to try and gather his thoughts a little more.

“Look, I know we’ve never been some holo-perfect family that sends out cards every Life Day. If there’s a chance to save her… she’d do the same for me.” There’s something in his voice that makes it sound like it cost him something to admit that aloud, but she does not know what it is. 

Instead she simply nods, laying a hand softly on his knee, giving it a simple squeeze to let him know she’s listening. Waiting. It’s enough for him to drag his gaze back to her. The guarded expression is gone now, shutters thrown open wide so that pure, raw emotion can shine through. 

“But I can’t lose _you_. I don’t want to choose, but if I have to—”

“You don’t have to choose, Theron,” Grey says, being sure to project confidence in his voice, because that’s what he needs right now. The hero, not the wife. She much prefers the latter role to the former, but she will give him whatever it is he needs. “If she can be saved, then I _will_ save her.”

“And if she can’t be?” His tone is angry, aggressive, challenging. She’s not sure if it’s directed at her or the situation. He’s pinned her with a piercing, unblinking gaze. Even knowing him as she does, it’s unnerving. For a stranger she imagines it would be downright intimidating.

“Scourge has a contingency plan,” she says hesitantly, “if we can’t purge the infection, he proposes to destroy the transport. And all those on board.”

Theron’s nose wrinkles, the line of his mouth twisting up into an ugly expression he can’t quite shove down. The expression smooths out as he nods his head succinctly, as if concluding some silent discussion with himself.

“Okay,” he says roughly, “I’m coming.”

“Theron, you can’t,” she barks, “you’ll be infected too!”

“No, no, I know that—I’m not—I won’t compromise the mission,” his voice is earnest, sincere even as fierce as it still is. “But you need backup, onboard the shuttle. Someone will have to be there to evacuate you. And set the detonation if it comes to that.”

Grey stares at her husband like he’s lost his mind, unable to comprehend what she’s hearing.

“You can’t—she’s your… you can’t, Theron!”

“Can’t I?”

“She’s _family_!” Her voice sounds as much like a plea as a denial to her own ears.

“And so are you,” he says fiercely, “you’re _my_ family.”

“This isn’t about _me_.”

“I know you, and I know how you get about family.” His eyes meet hers, gaze hard and unflinching, but voice still gruff. “Are you going to tell me that you won’t get tunnel vision? That you’ll know when to pull out? Be able to make that call if Satele is beyond saving?”

If he had slapped her in the face, it probably wouldn’t have stung as much as his words. It’s not wounded pride over her judgement being called into question, although that smarts too, but he’s not… entirely wrong. 

No one in her life will ever fill that maternal void that was left when her mother was killed. But of everyone in her adult life, Satele had always come the closest to ever providing anything near the warmth and security and guidance of Grey’s own lost mother. There had been other mentors and masters; men who had stood in as paternal figures throughout her life. But there was something special about the memory of her long lost, loving mother that was difficult to replicate completely. She’d do anything to spare Theron from having to know this particular pain — but it’s not completely selfless. Grey doesn’t want to lose another mother herself. As much as she’s even allowed to think of Satele as one.

“Can _you_ make that call?” she asks, sounding angry and petulant.

“Better me than Scourge,” Theron says flatly.

She should defend her friend and his judgement and ability to make hard decisions such as these — but she can’t. For as long as Scourge has lived, all of the wisdom and experience he’s been able to gather, from what she has witnessed, it seems that in retrospect most of his hard decisions are motivated not for the preservation of life but out of fear. Fear of time running out and not reaching an end goal, of getting distracted from destroying an enemy. She knows he’s changed since Valkorion’s death, that his mortality has changed him—but she has not seen firsthand yet if his motivations have changed with it. 

Taking a shortcut out of fear and trying to pass it off as a “hard decision” is ultimately short sighted. Just as short sighted as trying to bring back what has been lost. The thought chastens her, and she lets out a long breath, and with it, attempts to release her own selfish motivations into the ether.

“Satele would want me to do the right thing,” Theron says, voice finally softening. “And you too.”

“I know,” she finally gets out, “I can separate my feelings… of what I want. Versus what needs to be done.”

“She’d never forgive either of us if we unleashed a horror on the galaxy just to save her.” His expression is still guarded, as if he doesn’t quite believe his wife’s acquiescence.

“You don’t have to be there, Theron,” Grey says, “if it… if we have to make that call. You don’t have to watch that. Even from the safety of another ship.”

He swallows, his expression darkening again as his eyes drop back to where he’s folded his hands tightly in his lap. There’s something else going on there, something he can’t put into words yet. She’s never completely grasped the unique dynamic between the estranged mother and son. Ever since Grey had met him, there has been a part of her that has desperately wanted to find a way for them to bridge that gap. 

Perhaps it’s a bit selfish of her, seeing such an opportunity lost that she’ll never have again herself. But the two of them are alike in so many little ways that she doesn’t think either of them will ever fully realize. Sometimes it’s maddening, staying on the edges. Keeping out of it. They would both gain so much by having each other in their lives. But much like in hiding the truth of this situation from Theron, it’s not her decision to make. 

“I hate this,” he finally mutters.

She lays a hand on his gently, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I do too.”

“What’s that they say about ignorance being bliss?” It’s meant to be a joke, but his tone is biting and bitter.

“Would you rather have not known?” She asks cautiously, wondering again if she’s made the right decision here. He blinks at that, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that she could have kept this to herself.

“It sucks that it’s happening either way, but I don’t… I wouldn’t want you to have to deal with this without me.” She nods, but before she can say anything he adds, “At least this way I know I’ll have done everything I can, that _we_ will have tried every avenue. I won’t have to spend the rest of my life second guessing.”

She nods, and there’s another long pause, his eyes straying back to his hands. 

His voice is quiet, almost small as he speaks. “I wasn’t there when Master Zho was killed — I was dealing with Darth Mekhis. I mean, he made his own decisions, I don’t think he regretted them? But it’s easy to wonder, ‘what if I’d been there?’ Would I have been able to make any difference in the situation? I mean, maybe not. Probably not.”

Grey swallows, for a moment, just six-years-old again, watching the flames flicker in the moonlight as fire claimed her childhood home on Dantooine. The smell of burning wood and flesh invades her nostrils, the moment permanently seared in her consciousness. Leaving a child forever wondering _what if_? 

She blinks and again is back in the present.

“It _is_ hard,” she agrees quietly.

When he looks at her, it’s almost as if he had suddenly been on that journey with her too, his expression drawn up in remorse. This is not about her, no matter what he says, so she gives him what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

“I do not wish for you to have any regrets,” she says. “We will do whatever we can for Master Satele. For all of those people on the ship.” She gives his hand another squeeze, being sure to meet his eye, “We’ll do it _together_.”

His lips try to twitch upward into a smile, but the expression doesn’t quite get there. The million ‘what ifs’ probably still running through his mind.

“We can meet with Scourge and Kira when you’re ready,” she says. “See if we can find a role for you in the plan.”

He gives another nod, letting out a long breath as if some long battle had just been won. Maybe it was just an internal one. She will not ask what, if he wants to talk about it, he will.

“I can give you some space if you want it.” The offer is cautious as she does not want to leave herself. 

“No,” he says quickly, almost too quickly. His hand squeezing hers as if to hold her there.

“Alcohol, then?”

The laugh he lets out is shaky. “Oh, I knew there was a reason I married you.”

He releases his hold on her so that she can go grab him a drink. A decanter of fine whiskey had made an appearance in her quarters after one of her brother’s recent “business” trips. Whether it was a willing donation or confiscation she’s unsure. She made a habit of not asking many questions about that sort of thing. Sometimes feigning ignorance was the best way to maintain peace. Her hand hovers next to the decanter, hesitating for a moment, before she grabs it and a glass, bringing both back to the couch. 

She pours out a single serving that Theron knocks back instantly. She immediately refills the glass, enough to where the liquids almost overflowing. He shoots her a sheepish look, taking a much more measured sip this time. She takes back her seat next to him, content to keep him company as he works his way through the glass. They are long past the need to fill in every silence.

By the time he’s about halfway through the overfilled glass, his stiff posture has relaxed and he’s leaning against her. Her fingers card through his hair in the way that always seems to relax him. He blinks at her with a soft, open expression. The walls he’s so careful about maintaining are down now, and a heartbreaking jumble of emotions roll off him.

“Life never gives us a break does it?” The question is quiet. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s asking too much to just… be happy. It’s like the damn galaxy is conspiring against us.”

“What do you mean?”

“After you got that damn ghost out of your head, we had a chance. At least, I thought we did,” he mutters, “until Vinn had started those uprisings that were part of that kriffing conspiracy.”

His anger and rage at the man who had nearly torn them apart mirrored her own. Even with all of the time and recovery, it still simmered. It might always. Something in his tone makes her wonder if some of that is _still_ self-directed. She lets out a breath, tracing a finger across the implants above his brow, tracing a path along the side of his face. His eyes flutter at the action, some of the anger bleeding out of him.

“After I got back… we’d both been sorting through so many things. My recovery wasn’t exactly easy and you were…” He trails off, looking away. “It was a lot. But then we got married, and it had kind of felt like maybe we’d gotten there. Even with this war starting back up and everything, it’s been _good_. And now this.”

She leans over to press a kiss to forehead, lingering in the awkward position as his fingers curl around her, anchoring her in place. There’s only the briefest thought about where his glass has gone and if they’re going to be cleaning whiskey out of the upholstery. He presses his forehead against hers, eyes sliding shut.

“Our vows said we’d be there for each other through better or worse,” she says quietly. “This is probably one of those ‘for worse’ times—but it will get better.”

“That’s probably true.” His fingers holding her in the position twiddle idly against her hair. “Even at its worse, my life still is infinitely better with you at my side.”

“And with you at mine,” she says with another soft kiss. “No matter what, we’ll face this together.”

“No one else I’d rather do it with.”


End file.
